


49

by butimnotdeadyet



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-01-20 07:18:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12427695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butimnotdeadyet/pseuds/butimnotdeadyet
Summary: After the team wraps up a mission in another reality, a stranger shows up at the Waverider's door.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Started writing this back in July when questions of what an alternate earth Snart may be were raised...  
> Wanted to post something because I haven't in a while and with a class canceled today, I figured, why not?

Sara was a half a set pull ups away from collapsing on her bed when Gideon called out for her. She dropped to the ground, silencing the  _ huff _ that accompanied the move, and made her acknowledgment.

 

“Captain, there is someone who would like to speak to you.”

 

“Is the League trying to vid-call again? I told them that we weren’t compatible with their frequencies in here. And if it’s Rip, just tell him that I’ll message when we hit the temporal zone,  _ tomorrow. _ We all need to sleep and the others will want to be there when I tear him a new-”

 

“It is neither party, Captain. And I do not believe that you would wish this person to go unaddressed until the morning.”

 

“Fine. Who and how, then? I’d rather not wake up the boys.”

 

“The visitor is waiting outside, though I cannot confirm their identity as of this moment. My data of Earth Reference-Number-49 is still woefully incomplete-”

 

“I know, I know. But give me something to work with Gideon. Are they by the cargo door?”

 

“The most I can tell you is that their -  _ his _ , actually - biological signature was present at both the battle of City Plaza this afternoon and the Hall of Justice public entrance earlier this evening.” Sara’s brow furrowed. _ His  _ being at either place could mean a great many things, but being at both meant one of two: He was a League ally or one of the Questors they had failed to apprehend when the Apparition disappeared. “And, no, Captain. He is in the cargo hold.”

 

“You mean outside the-”

 

“No, Captain.” that meant he was  _ inside _ -

 

“What the hell, Gideon!? How did he get on board?”

 

Sara didn’t stick around long enough to hear the response in full (and Gideon didn’t seem to mind, considering she didn’t cast her voice into the hallway as Sara moved) but it sounded suspiciously like whoever was waiting for her had ‘asked nicely’. 

  
  
  


Her staff was at rest in her right hand, crooked behind her elbow and at an angle behind her head. The hall and bridge lights were dimmed to half strength, she guessed that someone had turned them down after Nate complained - she couldn’t blame him, after a few solid hits to the skull, she preferred the dark, too. Sara paused for a moment, debating the pros to powering to the lights, but decided against it and pressed forward. Her training in the dark would best nearly anyone else’s - and if Gideon was self-assured enough to let this person on without warning her beforehand then it wouldn’t be worth it if it woke up Ray or Jax in the medbay. 

 

Just as she was going to begin her descent to the hold, a voice called out softly.

 

“No need to brandish your weapons, I’m unarmed.”

 

A dark shape sitting - no, crouching - against the wall in the choke point of the corridor moved as he spoke, shadowed hands floating upwards in surrender. Her eyes hadn’t adjusted quite well enough to make out any more than the fact they were, in fact, empty; no sound of steel unsheathing or a hammer being pulled back, only a slight sound of fabric shifting.

 

“Says the man hiding in the dark.” She kept her voice low, though not as quiet as his. This was her house, she had the power here. 

 

“Well, I’ve already nearly woken your teammates in the infirmary once tonight by trying to find a light switch.” His voice was calm, gentle even.

 

She took the stairs seamlessly, putting her feet on level with his on the cargo floor. She towered over him without even trying.

“If you touched either of them-” 

 

“Do you really think I would have lasted this long on your ship if the voice above witnessed any kind of malice?” 

 

True. Gideon would have woken up the entire crew if her initial assessment had been malformed, or if she’d been proven wrong since his boarding. But Sara didn’t need to tell him that.

 

There was another quiet sound, a hum. Apparently, he had recognized her silence as an answer.

 

“Nothing to worry about, Captain, they’re still sleeping like babes - though, the younger one’s vitals did spike, but I think it was just a dream. Hopefully a good one; he could use it after today.” Maybe tired was a better word than gentle; like he’d rather be in bed than having this conversation. His voice gave away nothing in particular, sounding vaguely midland US with a measured caution.

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yes. I’ve been on the receiving end of the Kryptonians’ aerial interventions and, trust me,”- another sound, this time like a wet boot’s tread dragging across the floor, “the kid’s gonna be sore for a few days, with or without his nuclear powers, after the way he was tossed around.”

 

“You were there?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Doing what, exactly?” A little bit of an accusatory tone went a long way with two strangers in the dark. The man began to straighten, slowly, as he answered, obviously hoping to show some backbone.

 

“The Trio-” Sara had noticed some of the locals and league members refer to the hard hitters like that, as a set “-decided I was more useful above the playing ground, so I was laying down some cover  across from the waterworks building while you and the rest of the color-coded circus played  _ Galaga _ . I’m the reason that your shiny friend isn’t a puddle of molten goo.”

Sara had listened to people justify their actions - by truths and lies - for years, and rarely were they ever  _ just _ the right amount of self-assured, analytical, and realistic. But she always loved the outliers.

 

“Funny, I don’t remember hearing you talk at the tower after.”

 

“That’s because I didn’t go. I stopped in at the Hall to have a word with Prince before heading out to take care of other things.”

 

Convenient.

 

“And why should I believe you?”

 

“You shouldn’t. But since I need this conversation to continue, I’ll ask your ever-so-helpful co-pilot to pull up the coverage of today’s . . . skirmish.”

 

And there it was again, no lie to be found and no pride to tempt.

“Gideon, pull it up.”

 

Within a few seconds, the screen nearest them - one mounted on the wall that usually acted as an ID portal  - blinked on with one video set to play in the foreground and the handful of other at the ready behind it. Sara tapped the screen and the footage rolled.

 

It was odd, seeing the events play out in standard time as opposed to how they felt while she was fighting. Seconds ticked by - even counted down by the second by the camera’s timestamp - instead of the hectic fast-forward and slow-mo intervals that she usually experienced. She found Amaya and Firestorm first, glowing blue and burning orange, respectively, and then saw herself fighting between Nate and Mick. The members of the League dove in and out of frame like the camera operator had long since given up any hope of properly focusing on any of them, choosing to tackle to newcomers and challengers instead.

 

Sara felt the stranger move up along her side, not close, but near enough that he was softly illuminated by the screen. He was tall, drawn up to near his full height, but Sara had taken down taller. The gleam didn’t shed much light on the state of his clothes, but the material absorbed more than it reflected, so a dark martial - canvas perhaps, judging by the way it gave silently as he rose, unlike leather or the tri-polymers that Cisco was so fond of using to form the speedsters’ costumes. If she were to guess, one of the rustles that she had heard earlier had been to push back the equally dark hood that was partially collapsed around his neck now, but she could make out nothing else since the rest of his head seemed to be covered.

 

His hand raised, sheathed in a thick glove, and paused for a moment before moving forward to point out a shape tucked far above the normal reach of the fray, just in the shadow of the courthouse bell tower. There was a body, but too small and far away to see. He seemed to realize and moved to select the third clip in the lineup. 

 

With the new file came a moment of buffering, causing that man the cock his head to the side.

“I thought Vic gave you a data share to add to the ship’s mainframe, why is she pulling from the networks in town?”

 

This close she should be able to feel his exhale displace the air, but nothing. Like his voice was being projected smoothly from a speaker or a greater distance, not at all like he was standing just to her right. Yet, she could make out the movement of his chest, shoulders, as they cycled through each breath. 

But that would be a question for later, so Sara redirected her attention to the screen while she answered.

“Yeah, but Jax, the younger half of the human warhead, has declared that only he’s allowed to make additions to the closed system unless we’re properly docked and since he’s nursing radiation poisoning and toxic exposure. . .”

 

“Hmm, understood. Unsanctioned streaming it is.”

  
  


The new vantage point seemed to be for a news helicopter circling the block, placing Sara’s companion in the foreground instead of in the distance, allowing her to catch a glimpse of the setting in whole. 

 

He was kneeling, half pressed against the tower’s facade, with some sort of modified rifle knocked to his shoulder. He fired every few beats and each time he did one of the attacking  Questors fell or were forced to redirect whatever move they were making. Halfway through the clip, Gideon’s pirated version seemed to align with what had been run on the local network because a thin white frame appeared accompanied by a banner that rolled across the screen informing the viewers that “League and newcomers, ‘Legends’, hold off the combined forces of the Apparition and the Questors with Colonel assisting from above”. 

 

The man moved his hand again, pointing so that this time pulling Sara’s attention back to the ground-level field of play.    
“And here,” he began, “is when you heard me on your comms. Not that you knew it was me.”

 

Sara remembered as she witnessed it as an observer. She was taking down a Questor - this one more black-crusted scar tissue than flesh - when “Blonde in white, duck to your left” had rung through her earpiece. She had acted, without thought, reassured by the knowledge that the League’s tech gurus had taken the chance to sync both team’s earpieces as well as fortify them against other frequency users, and it had served her well. The projectile, a kind of gray gelatin venom-ball that the Apparition specialized in, zipped right over her head and crashed into the crispy henchman.  

 

His quick words had kept her from going the way of Jax, minus the superhuman matrix that overpowered the most caustic toxins in moments. He’d saved her life. But it didn’t explain why he was here, and she said as much.

 

“Like I said, I don’t mean you or your team any danger,” he began, but his words were carefully guarded. “But I do need your . . . help.”

 

“So you show up here, now, in the rain at past midnight? With no warning or League assurances outside of these videos. What could we possibly do for you that the home-Earth heroes couldn’t?” Out of couple  _ dozen _ members whose histories and obligations span galaxies, how could the Waverider’s crew provide any assistance that they couldn’t?

 

“The only reason that any of your people are here is to pick up the out-of-space materials - the irradiated carbonite canisters. Which makes it sound to me that you can make it back home with more than you came in with - right?” 

 

Sara nodded, slowly, and watched as his shoulders adjusted, like he was releasing tension.

“What do you need moved? And why wouldn’t having one of the green guys sending it into space be enough, or one of the small herd of Supers that you have floating around?”

 

“I’m not flinging anything in space, Captain. Between rainbow brigade, the US armed forces, and the ‘Supers’, I wouldn’t make it ten minutes before being carted away.”

If Sara were to bet, he was speaking for experience.

“But, no, none of the many things they could do would suffice, not without great personal cost to me. . . and others.” His voice sounded hollow, like he was imagining just  _ who  _ would be affected, and how. 

 

She considered him: an ally, as far as either could substantiate or challenge; alone, as much so as he was willing to say; and as straightforward of a person as she had met in recent days. 

“I won’t make any promises - the team gets a say in what happens on this ship - but I can talk to them.”

 

“It would be much appreciated,” it seemed that it was his turn to regard her, and crossed his arms over his chest in doing so, “I heard from Billie that the plan was for you to head off tomorrow morning, is that correct?” 

 

Sara shrugged, most of the team had been too hangry or tired to discuss any more than the broad strokes of their plan moving forward - the League had probably assumed that since they had made their goodbyes before they left the tower hours ago that they wouldn't be making another timely appearance in civilization.

“Noon’s a better bet, but yeah, that’s the plan. Why? Is your transpo time sensitive?”

 

“I should think so, since the next time I step foot on the soil of my home I’ll be signing my own death warrant.”

 

His delivery was deadpan, like he had been made to say the same words - or something similar - many times. 

“I take it that means you’re the cargo, then?” He didn’t bother with more acknowledgment than the slightest downward turn of his head. “May have to charge extra for that . . . Care to explain what drove you to the extreme of seeking _ our _ help?”

 

“You mean apart from my impending doom?” He didn’t require a response but she gave a brief hum anyway.

 

“Strangers from another reality couldn’t  have been your first choice.”

 

“You’re right. You and your team are my  _ only _ choice.”

 

Despite her intentions to remain impassive, her left brow jumped, ever so slightly, without her permission and he caught the movement.

 

“That surprises you. But, trust, when it came down to the organized chaos of this lot and assured death, I chose to live. Though to be clear, I haven’t forsaken my associates. I was never a part of the League - never a card-carrying member - but I know them well. Both of those facts have served me well and will continue to do so in the coming hours. 

“I believe in all that they can do, the acts that they can perform. One of them has a part to play in all of this as well. But that step can only be taken once I’m _ gone _ .”

 

“And gone meaning . . ?”

 

“I’m sure you can imagine the possibilities.”  _ Gone _ could mean a hundred things and she’d been most of them, so, yes, she could. And while she couldn’t see his eyes - strange, given that he was there attempting to prove his worth as an honest person of need - but there was no doubt that he was meeting hers. “I am at your mercy, Captain. If you tell me to leave I will walk into town and have a nightcap, maybe even get a good night’s rest before my token is pulled. My peace - along with a few final acts of war - has already been made; checked all the boxes before I came here to see you tonight. Not that it will matter come tomorrow.” There was no repentance in his voice, but he said the last bit quietly enough that Sara barely catching more than a murmur against the covering over his mouth. 

 

“So,  _ I’ll _ be signing your death warrant if I push you out into the rain?”

 

“No.” Definitive; even a little cool. “You and your team are a passive party in all of this. Nothing you do or do not do will reflect back onto you. If you take me aboard, you’ll get no more praise than you would if you told me to try my luck elsewhere. I cannot force or threaten you; I can’t steal this ship out from under you. And I cannot lie.” Sara made out a humored tone in his voice, enough to know that he recognized, at least, the worthlessness of the last statement. “There are rules to all of this.”

 

Hell, pulling a willing man from his timeline on an alternate Earth was a first, but it was far from the most questionable thing they had done. A part of Sara was  _ still  _ waiting for 1776 to come back and bite them in the ass - accidentally resculpting their home country would not be a smiled upon by the Bureau. 

 

“This is what I can give you, tonight. You can stay aboard - we have an open room right now - and then tomorrow we’ll talk to the crew. Playing taxi isn’t our usual business but I can’t imagine that they’ll have anything against you tagging along for a bit.”

 

“Thank you.” For the first time since they had begun talking, his speech patterns changed notably and Sara caught it: just a little bit of a break before the vowels. He hadn’t been sure that he would be helped here, by them. 

He was at the end of his rope and she had just held out a hand.

 

“Come on, I’ll show you to the cabin.” In a stroke of luck, Amaya had recently cleared her stuff out of the rearmost room, having decided to take Sara’s old one while Sara herself had taken the Captain’s quarters just off of the bridge. He could be contained and out of sight until necessary in the morning. 

  
  
  


The length of the hall was still dark as they made their way past the training room and infirmary, where Sara took note of Jax’s content snoring. All the doors along the stretch where closed, so a little conversation wouldn’t bother anyone. 

 

“So, the news labeled you ‘Colonel’ . . .” She drifted off, question clear.

 

He scoffed next to her, breaking his silence of the past moments - another oddity, he could almost match her for stealth in movement, only her proximity allowed her to make out his steps.

“A joke of their own making, I assure you. A play on my connection to another  _ celebrity _ personality more than anything else.”

 

“Hmm, good. It’s a little lacking in personality for our Earth. And we have friends who would love to help give you a new alias.” 

 

“I can imagine.” 

 

Sara slowed to a stop outside of cabin 9, pressing her hand to the sensor for access.

“This is you. Pretty clean, though I think the nards have been trying to using it for storage. And watch out for anything that starts moving, Mick’s rat may have escaped again.”

 

He moved, stepping to stand facing the room and seemed to peer around her into the dim space. He nodded after a beat.

“Not like I’m in the right to complain. You know what they say about beggars.” Sara almost pointed out that different Earths could say a great many things about beggars that Sara wouldn’t know, but the mild bitterness that leaked into his voice made it clear that certain idioms surpassed gaps in space continuum. “Gonna lock me in, Captain?”

 

“Apparently I can’t even keep you out of the ship, since Gideon took a shine to you. But that doesn’t mean that this door shouldn’t stay closed out of a reason of good faith.” In truth, Sara was working off fumes and was willing to bet that he wasn’t doing much better. Neither of them were awake enough to build or remove the contingencies that would need to be put into place to best the locks and the AI oversight. 

“And you can call me Sara. The crew only uses ‘Captain’ when I threaten them.”

 

“Good to know.” He stepped into the room, turning to face her again in the same movement. “And I take it that she’s not usually one to pick up strays?”

 

Sara nodded her agreement. She could see a little more of him now, since the room was set to 1/10 strength instead of minimum like the rest of the ship. His head was dark haired and bare, but his ears, nose, and below were hidden by some sort of modernized balaclava with his eyes hidden behind the shaded lenses of a pair of goggles. Both seemed to have avoided most of the rain outside but enough remained to throw a glint of light. 

 

“How did you convince her to let you on board anyway? She’s never been one to listen to strangers - and you shouldn’t have been able to talk to her without being inside the hull of the ship.”

 

“Sure, if we weren’t all still on a shared comms frequency. I told her that I was waterlogged, tired, and running for my life. Made it clear that I meant no harm to her, the ship, or the team. In the end it was a promise that I would do her a favor of her choice; ended up swearing that when I got the chance I would ask Heywood - the metal one, I believe?-” he paused for another confirming nod, “to stop streaming something called ‘Friends’ until he fell asleep every night. Apparently, it's migraine-inducing to those of artificial intelligence.”

 

“Hmm, and that was it? She didn’t give me your name, vigilante or otherwise. And it's not like her not to ask.”

Sara was prying, but at this point, it was ridiculous not to have at least a name.

 

“Odd. It seemed to me that she was avoided asking - and giving, didn’t know she was ‘Gideon’ until you said as much.” That would be investigated later, after some sleep.

 

“Well. I’m not her.”

 

“No, you’re not,” he sighed. He stepped further back, deeper into the room, bowing his head slightly as he went. Sara supposed for a moment that he would leave their conversation as it was, until he raised a hand and threaded two fingers under the band of his goggles and the top hem of the mask, working them down quickly past his nose and chin.

“So, Len will do. Goodnight, Captain.”

 

Sara blinked as the doors zipped shut and chimed with the interior lock slipping into place, then shut her eyes. She stood there for a moment, the exhaustion of her mind fighting between banished memories forcing their way forward and the brief glimpse that she had seen before the bulkhead sealed. 

Dark brows, a widow's peak, familiar planes of a wide jaw, and angular, full lips; she even thought she caught a glimpse of the little spot of brown by his left ear when he turned his head to hit the sensor. All of it, with the name, and the eyes that flicked to meet hers for only a second - the same ones that used to stare her down; the mix of blue and green and grey that she could never pinpoint - meant one thing.

 

She had welcomed Earth 49’s Leonard Snart onto the Waverider.


	2. Chapter 2

Sleep - once Sara's exhaustion surpassed her spiraling thoughts - lasted roughly four hours before Gideon alerted her to the first stirrings of the crew. Though, _stirrings_ may have been an understatement, since her first interaction with the team consisted of dodging Mick’s right hook.

 

“Watch it, Mick! I haven’t given you anything to be mad about yet!”

 

“Sorry, Boss,” Sara _tried_ not to wince at the use of familiar phrase - it had become commonplace in the time since she took up the title of captain, but now it felt _wrong_ \- she failed, but moved seamlessly into the Mess anyway, “I was trying to hit Pretty Boy.”

 

Sara turned and, sure enough, Nate was cowering against the wall behind her with his skin tinted a slight gray instead of its normal beige or silver - he must still be worn out from the fighting yesterday. Another glance around told her that Stein was calmly sitting at one of the tables, sipping his coffee and wisely ignoring the antics of the younger men in the room.

 

“Tell him I didn’t do it! Or take it! Or whatever the hell he thinks I did!” Nate pleaded.

 

“Liar! You’re the only one who likes my casserole, so I know you fuckin’ ate it, you damned, shiny dick!” Mick launched to the left and Sara became the pivot point around which both men moved, front angled to Mick to have an advantage with any blocking and Nate pushed further behind her to get out of the overhead strike zone. It was in Nate’s favor that the larger man looked to have shaken off his own exhaustion about as well, eyes still red and a little bleary from lack of sleep.

 

“I didn’t, I swear!” Nate huffed, and working his way closer to the far door, “Maybe Jax woke up and needed something to eat!?”

 

For a moment the action quelled: Mick lowered his arms, Nate sighed and Sara relaxed, stepping out from between them, until-

“Actually, Mr. Jackson and Dr. Palmer have remained in the Med Bay since their arrival back aboard the ship last night,” Gideon provided, ever insightful. And with that Mick had Nate by the collar of his shirt, fist rearing back and-

“ _But_ our guest desired breakfast shortly before dawn and asked if he was allowed access to the galley and its contents. He, I believe, is responsible for the missing portion of your casserole, Mr. Rory.”

 

“Guest? What’re you talking about?”

 

With Mick’s fingers loosened in his shirt, Nate pulled free, welcoming the distraction.

“Yeah, Gideon, what guest? We all came in together and . . . uh, alone.”

 

“He arrived late las-”

 

“Actually that’s what I came in to talk to you guys about . . .” She had wanted to wait until everyone was up by their own accord but as it stands, it would be better not to wait.  “Can you guys go grab the others and bring them to the bridge? Leave Jax if he’s still out, but Ray should be fine and Amaya’s probably in her room doing whatever she does in the mornings.” At least at this rate, they may come to a decision before anyone got too anxious, even if it takes place without the Colonel in the room.

 

Sara left the room as the boys were splitting up, with Martin theorizing in the background as to what could possibly be going on and as to whom their visitor may be and landing nowhere near the truth. On the bridge, she busied herself by pooling the files she had; mostly the videos he had shown her last night and the picture of him from outside the Hall, along with the audio recording of he and Gideon’s first conversation from the ship communication logs. If it all went calmly, they would have a resolution pretty-

 

“WHAT THE FUCK!?”

 

It would have been funny how recognizable Mick’s infuriated howl was, no matter how much it was distorted by the metal walls of the ship, if it didn’t certainly mean that he had come across their guest. Sara took off down the hall to the cabins.

  
  


She slid a stop right as Nate and Amaya rounded the corner, stunned into inaction by the scene before them in a way that Sara didn't have the convenience of claiming: Ray pulling a free-swinging Mick off of the silent and very much not-in-his-room Leonard Snart.

 

Sara found her voice again after a few beats of silence. Unfortunately, so did the others.

 

“Where did _he_ come from-!”

 

“YOU BASTARD-!”

 

“I told you I didn’t eat the-!”

 

“Everyone! Shut the hell up, or the next time that one of you gets a concussion, I’ll scream my lungs out right next to _your_ door!”

That was Jax, who had just appeared in the arch of the Med Bay, holding his head in his hands and moaning while Nate winced and reached over to pat his shoulder.

 

“Sorry, man,” Nate soothed, “we were just caught off guard-”

 

“I know, Snart’s on the ship and you’re all pissed. Just be quiet about it. And-” the youngest crewmember paused for a moment to glance over at the man in question. He and Sara both watched as the Colonel took the moment to subtly wipe at his split lip, having read that Mick’s attention was solely on the mechanic now, and Sara caught how Jax’s eyes lingered on the man’s face - all that was recognizable. “-don’t strangle him; he saved all of our asses yesterday, so that’d bring all sorts of bad karma or whatever. It’s not like we can handle _more_ bad luck.” With his wisdom made heard, he treated them all with a glare and began his retreat to the Med Bay, but paused before closing the door and called out to Sara, “I vote that we help him out, take him where he needs to go or whatever, in case it matters.”

 

He didn’t wait for a response or let them know how he knew about Colonel’s purpose on the ship, just dragged his feet back towards the closest chair after slamming the door trigger. Sara turned her attention back to the matter at hand, but it seemed that Mick’s temper had already burned out as he turned on his heel and stomped off to his cabin before the med bay door even sealed. She sighed toward his retreating back but knew that any confrontation would have to wait.

 

“Well,” she started, “there’s the ‘who’ of it all, let’s get back to the bridge and talk the ‘why’, okay?”

 

“I don’t think that is going to be all that necessary, Captain, do you?” The Colonel straightened, freeing himself from the wall and put space between he and Mick. “They obviously would rather I had not stepped foot on your ship, despite the one in my favor. Like I said, I can’t force anything. And I didn’t realize you all knew me like I knew some of you.” Sara watched as his eyes refused to cut to his right down the hall where Mick had disappeared, instead looking forward, vision landing a little ways between Sara and Amaya.

 

“Wait-” Ray and Sara spoke at the same time, combined voices loud enough that there was a resounding groan from the room behind them. The pair shared a grimace before Sara waved Ray to go on.

 

“Jax said - and your jacket. . .” Ray gestured at the hoodie the Colonel still worn, though it seemed like a few layers and accessories had been removed during the night, “You were the shooter on the roof, weren't you? You kept the Primary Apparition grounded with those pellet-things of yours.” Ray seemed a little gobstopped by the idea but smiled when Snart nodded.

 

“And you were the mechanical size-changer. Impressive. We had a guy that tried that . . . but he exploded.” Now everyone grimaced. But it was a start.

 

“I don’t see any reason that, despite Mick’s, uh- reservations, we can’t help you out.” Nate honestly just seemed glad to be finally free of the threat against his life.

The Colonel’s eyes cut around the remaining team members - taking in their supportive looks - and nodded.

  
  


For months now, the Legends crew had been dealing with the bureaucracy that came with their new gig, but right now Sara was one more belittling comment founded in their crew’s “ _lack of professionalism”_ from flying to the Vanishing Point and giving each and every member of Rip’s prided inner circle a piece of her mind and a knock from her staff. Sadly, the only way to get the clearance to _introduce_ an anachronism to the timeline was if their new companion could plead standing as a Refugee in Service. It would mean that he'd have to keep ties to the Bureau basically anywhere he went, maybe even get assigned a period after getting licenced, but considering his other choice had been death by the hand of _who- or whatever_ it was he was running from on 49, Sara couldn't see much of a reason to protest. And none of that could even be broached before wrapping up the current mission, which is why Sara had spent the last 45 minutes ripping her hair out trying to coordinate with the bureau overseer for the 2090s.

 

“What do you mean we’re “expected to complete the mission _in full_ before reporting to the Bureau”? You wanted us to chase after the carbonite and we did, made sure that it didn’t cause a catastrophe _and_ saved a bunch of Alt-Earthers’ asses while we were at it-”

 

“Yes, and we will talk about your explicate interference in another Earth’s continuum another time, Ms. Lance.” The condescension was palpable, and not just because the speaker had one of those niche New Yorker accents that made everything sound like the sickest middle-school burn. Sara had held all of two conversations with Temporal Agent Holdings in the months since taking up with the TB, but for every second of the both, she had been tempted to send a punch through the console and today’s was no exception. The reproachful ‘no, really, you are just _that_ dense’ tone was grating on her last nerve.

“Your team has been designated as the Mode of Re-Alignment as well as Retrieval for Endeavor X610.”

 

It took all of Sara’s substantial willpower to keep from telling the pretentious ass exactly where to could shove Endeavor X610.

 

“ _We don’t do re-alignments, Holdings._ That was bullet number one when we signed on under Rip. Our job is to stop the screw-ups and deliver the aberrati-”

“Anachronisms, Ms. Lance, we will not abide by your outdated-”

“- Dammit you know what I meant! We get them _to you_ at the Vanishing Point; your diplomat-types handle the correcting, we handle the chaos. That’s the deal.”

 

It certainly didn’t help her mood that Mick was still locked in his room after the events of that morning or that Gideon was still waiting for Jax’s swelling to go down before healing the concussion. With them out for the count, plus Stein’s indifference, Ray’s suit repairs, and Amaya and Nate’s status as probies, she was forced into taking this call alone. And then there was their guest, squirreled away until an all clear was given. . .

 

In the meantime, Holdings droned on.

“Our _Agency Representatives_ have far too many obligations to be able to take time out of their work days to galavant through time, correcting others’ mistakes,” Sara had no way of seeing Holdings’ face through the call - they were set up on the cross-‘verse system, having audio alone was a wonder - but is she had to guess, it would feature the agent’s signature tight-lipped smile, “And since we have done you the service of outfitting your _Waverider_ with the prototype world jumping tech, my associates and I deemed it fitting to ask you to pick up some of the slack.”

 

One fist. Maybe through the speakers, so that she could claim loss of connection-

 

“And then, of course, there is the matter that you have turned our top-rate Organization for Time Protection into a passenger ferry. The mission comes first.”

 

She shouldn’t be surprised that the Bureau knew about the Colonel - the ship had been connected to the Point’s data hub since they had hit the temporal zone at eleven that day, and Gideon’s surveillance of the . . . _altercation_ outside the cabins would have gone live instantly - but it didn’t stop Sara’s teeth from biting together. She was already dealing with the fallout from her own team, the last thing she needed was the so-called higher ups bringing her up on charges of improper use.

And calling themselves 'top-rated' was a little rich considering they were basically the only game in town, even if the private startup ventures in D.C. and Mexico City were promising.

 

“Don’t worry, Holdings, we’re not making a habit of it. Leaving him behind would have meant a loose end and I know how much you hate those.” Oh, she could imagine those squinty eyes bugging out at the illusion to the last time they’d spoken - Holdings’ first and only attempt at field work, the Olympics in ‘38 - and smirked to herself in satisfaction. “I’ll tell you what, have one of the techs send over the data and we’ll drop the capsules right back where they’re supposed to be.”

It took a moment, but just as Sara reached for the disconnect, she heard a frantic plea not to drop the ‘very unstable and combustive reagent in the middle of Zurich’ and her smile widened as the mechanical command went through, knowing that without her acknowledgment and the inability to call without first being hailed while the ship was across universes, the agent would be forced to keep precautions on the local temporal geography for another 24 hours to watch for backslide.

 

In retrospect, Rip probably _shouldn’t_ have signed them up for direct detail work. But he _had_ said that being their handler had been too time-consuming, so . . .

  
  
  


The change in plans meant that they couldn’t proceed directly to the Vanishing Point to have the Colonel’s data recorded as the crew had desired. The carbonite did have to be replaced, but from what Sara had gathered, it wouldn't be too strenuous of an endeavor.  

 

Unlike time travel, side effects of hopping weren’t a factor and the Waverider protected them from all manner of other interferences that had been reported by lone travelers - according to the Bureau’s guidebook - and Sara had to agree, even if the flashes of complete sensory deprivation made it seem like she was being written in and out of existence in a matter of seconds. Which she probably was.

 

All in all, the team handled their second jaunt across the inter-Universe pathway well, though Mick was decidedly not a fan of sharing a room with the Colonel again so soon. The older man - _by more than the initial two years, now_ , Sara mused after realizing that this version of Leonard still lacked the gray hair that had been one of the original’s statement features - sat on the opposite side of the bridge, shooting glares at every chance he got, while the other seemed to be trying his hardest to fade into the background.

 

They pulled back into their reality roughly where they had left from late 2175, before immediately plugging in the coordinates for Switzerland in 2098. That leg of their journey had left a stunned Snart gaping at them while trying to decipher the team’s words - the temporary distortion passed a few minutes later but hearing him ask Ray what he meant by ‘stewing turtles in the Lovecraft pulpit’ was well worth the confusion that followed.

  


Most of the groundwork for the plan had been drawn up by the Bureau agents already, so the team’s job was relatively simple: break into the compound and replace the carbonite in the engine prototype the same day it went missing, hopefully without being noticed by the several hundred workers and especially not the lead scientists.

 

Too bad they seemed to have picked up more of the bad luck that Jax had warned about.

 

Not even a ten minutes after they hit ground in central Europe and Sara and Ray headed in to replace the carbonite, gunfire started on the parade ground. Ray dumped the cannisters, leaving the scientist with one hell of a mess to clean up the next morning, and grabbed Sara before hauling them both out into the thick of it.

 

Fifty armed men decked out in expensive-looking armor had flooded the space, cornering Nate and Mick against the east-facing wall. They were holding their ground, but only so many hits could be landed when their respective reaches topped out at five and twenty feet each, much shorter than the range of the rifles being aimed at them. Even with Atom and Canary starting in from the rear, and Amaya dropping from the exterior wall, the men were already advancing.

 

Mick was grazed across his arm by a bullet that ricocheted off Nate and let out a growl, followed quickly by a somewhat panicked call from Nate that Sara couldn't quite make out. The sirens that had been disabled remotely by Gideon before their infiltration were now in full effect and more security appeared from the northern tunnel. Ray, now shrunken, zipped past Sara’s head before blasting a gun out of a soldier’s grip and warned her of another to her right that was quickly treated with a double tap of her staff.

 

Over comms, Mick let loose another growl and Nate shouted again, this time a distinct ‘Cover!’ ringing through. Sara dove down, taking out the knees of a pair of mercs in stride, and was on her knees by the time that the concussive force moved through her.

When she raised her head, she saw that the men in black around her were not as lucky. Some were cast back and lay slumped on the ground. Others were standing stock-still, guns still raised with index fingers primed to pull the trigger, but frozen in step, unable to follow through. One, who had been spraying cover for a comrade and standing at full height to do so, was frosted with ice from boot to helm.

 

The yard was silent once again, alarms failed or disarmed, and Ray grew to full size to offer a hand to pull Sara to her feet. After standing the pair looked to the wall were Mick, Amaya, and Nate were gathered in time to watch the Colonel - still dress down slightly, but now armed with the rifle that Sara had seen him use in the footage from the day before - stroll from the shadows of an arch.

 

“Where the hell did you come from?”

 

“We heard the Metal Man call out for help over the bridge comms. Gideon didn't have any objections, so I figured I’d lend a hand.”

 

“Man, I thought that gun was cool when it was saving our hide yesterday,” Nate all but ran up to the Colonel’s side and clapped him on the shoulder, “Now I know that it’s _awesome_.”

 

“What he means is ‘thank you for coming to his aid when he lost all sense’,” Amaya clarified, a little snide, but it lost all effect when her lips upturned. The Colonel nodded, with his own small smile visible to those who were looking.

 

“Okay, now you have to tell me how you got it to shoot-” Ray cut off mid-sentence to wince and dig a finger into his helmet, plugging his left ear, and a beat later Sara heard it, too. It started as a quiet, erratic buzz, well beneath the tone that the comms usually used, which probably explained why Ray’s more-sensitive helmet speaker picked it up first. Once they both realized that the others - judging by the Colonel pressing a firm hand to the side of his head in time with a shared look of discomfort from Nate and Mick - could hear it too, Sara gestured for Ray to contact the Waverider.

 

“Hey Gideon, I think the comm unit is on the fritz. Can you try resetting-” before he even finished there was a flicker through Sara's earpiece, cutting out the sound, likely the AI switching to a new frequency.

 

But the noise only stopped for a beat before blaring loudly enough for Sara and Amaya to claw the devices from their ears and Ray to rip off his head gear, quickly followed by Mick and Nate pulling their own out in pained confusion. Sara was about to reassure them, confirm what they knew - that Gideon would have the problem solved soon and the Waverider was still just on the other side of the surrounding hills - when Amaya lept forward just in time to catch the Colonel as his weapon fell from his grip and he crashed towards the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my own take on the Bureau, mostly from before the season premiere but with little nods (like 'anachronism'). I have no idea why Rip in the show would have set up the Bureau's HQ in 2017 if he wasn't planning on including the Legends - here, they've repurposed a lot of the remaining TM tech as well as the VP (but NO OCULUS).
> 
> Any guess as to the little time-travel startup ventures? Hint: TV, but not comic.
> 
> Much love,  
> Gin


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in the medbay. . .

Panting from her sprint through woods and along the corridors, Sara stopped to take stock of the team while Amaya and Mick settled the Colonel onto a med chair. Mick’s arm was bleeding from where he’d been hit and Ray kept looking around like he still couldn’t quite hear what anyone was saying to him, they would each need a brief stint under the scanners in due time. Amaya and Nate were no worse for the wear than usual after a fight and while Sara herself could feel a bruise blooming on her hip and lower back she marked herself down for field clearance as well. 

 

What she couldn’t tell, and was provided no insight on by her team during the transit or by Gideon upon arrival, was why the doppelganger had dropped like a rock after the firefight without a scratch on him. Her agitation was mounting, watching his chest stutter up and down while Stein and Gideon worked to get a response out of the equipment that had never had a chance to catalog to his body’s biology.

 

“Dammit, will someone tell me why! Why was he on the ground in the first place?!” Her voice was coarse but she decided that the battle and unexpected strain of comms’ loss were the culprits. 

 

Amaya responded, returned from ushered Jax away from the action, “I’m sorry, Sara. I related to Ray that we were falling behind and he suggested that the rifle Snart had used may help-”

 

Stein finally managed to engage to software and secured the diagnostic cuff around the Colonel’s wrist with a triumphant  _ click _ . Less than a beat later Gideon chimed with an update.

 

“Captain, it appears that my cursory scans of Mr. Snart when he boarded last night were lacking. I did not consider any ill-effects of alternate Earth technology on his system.”

 

A good start but- “More, Gideon!”

 

“ _ This _ Mr. Snart has a cardiac regulator, similar to the more advanced pacemaker of the late 21st century of our Earth. It appears that the device’s interactions with his heart were disrupted by the mechanical-electrical relays found in and around the Zurich compound. The signal ‘fritz’, as Dr. Palmer describes, was not the cause of Mr. Snart’s fall, but actually an alert of the malfunction.” She sounded a little too human in her frustration for an AI.

“As the implant began to fail, the signal was broadcast. Had this happened on E-R-N 49, a medical professional would have been contacted - likely one of the Colonel’s own choice - and dispatched a response team, and a software patch, if applicable. Instead, the device located the nearest frequency with a ‘Communications’ distinction - with the six of you standing around, the Waverider’s systems were closest at hand - but was only able to blast static across the foreign wavelength until I reformatted it.”

 

“So,  _ an alert  _ almost burst my eardrums. Great.” Nate mumbled to Sara’s right, earning him a not so subtle ear flick from Amaya. 

 

“Okay, so does this mean that you can, um, settle whatever happened?” The Colonel’s limbs were still tensing and relaxing with force enough to require Mick to bracket the man’s knees with his good arm to keep his lower body on the chair.

 

“It does, Captain Lance. Though I believe that first administering a sedative may ease the process along. And while you and Mr. Rory may wish to remain present to manage your own injuries, I suggest the others leave.” 

 

Nate, Stein, Amaya, and Ray filed out just as whatever drug Gideon was pushing made it to the Colonel’s circulatory system, leaving Mick free to raid the cabinet for bandages and a needle. Sara had moved to skim the results of their passenger’s scan when the AI interrupted her.

 

“It appears that you managed to bruise a kidney. Not horribly, but I would still like to lessen the inflammation - take a seat.” Gideon must have run a scan when Sara turned her back, damn her omnipotence. 

 

Sara began a dismissal until she caught Mick mouthing an attack on her personal agency, usually avoiding the irradiative beams at all costs, and eventually allowed it with what she would call minimal grumbling. 

 

She let her mind go blank as the pale laser worked her over, let her eyes drift from the rhythmic movements of the arsonist’s stitching to the still fluctuating status bar on the display of the other occupied chair. The oxygen content of his blood was still dangerously low but the decreased exertion meant that his body was better equipped to handle the loss, especially with Gideon’s facilitating. The diagnostic bar along the lower half of the screen was still cycling through, slowly pulling all available data for a rendering of the regulatory device and its situation. Sara really wished she had leaned on Jax a little harder to upload to E 49 data - at least then Gideon would something to compare it against.

 

When the thrum against her skin finally died, she stood. The movement caught Mick’s eyes and he asked what she had been about to, shrouding any attentiveness by curling around himself to reach the deep bullet graze on his outer arm.

 

“How’s it goin’, Gideon? Don’t look like he’s back in step yet.”

 

“No, Mr. Rory, he is not. Unfortunately it seems that the device was far more integral than most. Where other pacemakers act as assistants to the muscles of the heart-”

 

“-to keep the rhythm, right? Or apply a shock to restart the beating. . .” Sara butted in, the old knowledge prickle at the back of her brain.

 

“Correct. But the device in this Mr. Snart’s chest cavity has a second, higher objective than over vision or maintenance - the regulator and the device’s complementary structures have almost completely taken over the cardiac load.”

 

Mick huffed, brow pinched in the way that Sara had long-since noticed that it did when he was pretending to be denser than he was. “Wh’do’ya mean, ‘taken over the load’?”

 

“I believe that due to some drastic medical measures is his recent past, Mr. Snart’s heart was left as little more than an organic shell, heavily regulated by the device we are speaking of now.”

 

“That’s . . . not good, is it.” Sara bit her lip after the words left her, watching Mick’s eyes fall to the face of the Colonel, looking somewhat pained as they did. 

 

“I think it is safe to say that it is not, Captain. Moreso because of my own lack of familiarity with the technology, but also in general, the implant is completely artificially and while The Colonel’s Earth may have discovered ways to apply such materials effectively-”

 

“But we haven’t. In the 21st or 22nd century.”

 

“Why would the bastard get on the ship if it was just goin’ to take him to a place where no one could do the upkeep?” Mick finished off the final stitch he was working on but held his slumped position for a little longer, grumbling the words more to himself than either Gideon or Sara, but she herself shrugging anyway.

 

“Based on the way he was talking last night it was more about getting away.” He had mentioned rules and time limits - and  _ gone.  _ The word caught in her head again, thoughts flicking to the past experiences that had left her well versed on the topic; maybe he really had meant the more . . . final application of the term. 

 

“He is not a lost cause yet. Once the technology is analyzed, I should be able to provide most services. Assuming, that is, that the signals  _ can _ normalize his automatic systems again.”

His body was completely still now, more so than Sara had been trained to expect when under normal sedation. Instead of a steady rise and fall, his chest would in- and exhale on a cycle of fifteen seconds, and the heart monitor was giving off a faster but similar reading no audible  _ lub-dub _ distinction between the contraction of the heart quadrants, too unnatural and precise to be believable if it wasn't for the fact that Sara could see the biometric comparisons of now to the time he arrived in the cargo bay fewer than 24 hours ago on the far screen.

 

“And do you think it can?” 

 

“I am hopeful. It appears that the musculature surrounding his heart and lungs has adapted quite admirably to the prosthetic additions, strengthened in ways that a normal person’s would not, but with a device with this level of intricacy, I cannot trust my conservative scan alone.”

 

That made sense, Sara supposed. There could only be so much information gleaned from any diagnostic-

“So, what do we do?”

 

“There is an apparatus in the second compartment against the back wall, Captain.” 

 

Sara found the instrument with ease - wrapped in the sterile clear plastic that seemed to be everywhere on the ship, membrane thin and the slightest bit tacky on the outside - and unfurled the appendages to reveal something that resembled a white, flexible ‘Y’ with palm-sized suction pads on each end with roughly four feet of tubing bound in cotton webbing. After Gideon confirmed her find, Sara sliced through the packaging and returned to the bedside.

 

“Usually, the Machrin’s CS-3 can be applied to a clothed chest but with what appears to be added electrical components to Mr. Snart’s clothes, it will be best if they are removed. Mr. Rory, you will lend a hand. . .”

 

They made quick work of it, separating the med cuff from the Colonel’s wrist long enough to shuck off the canvas jacket then the long sleeve shirt and tank that were underneath. His skin was cool to the touch, and pale, but Sara heard no comment from Mick about either and didn’t voice her own. When she moved back around to the foot of the chair after clearing the clothes to the side, she found herself rooted to the spot. 

The Leonard Snart that they had known had claimed his fair share of scars - she had seen a number of them on one occasion or another, but never up close - but his had been old, fine marks from the past, some nearly melted back into his skin the way that Sara hoped that some of hers might one day. That was not the case for the Colonel. She should have expected it - obviously the heart monitor was a fairly new installation and would have required a hands-on installation - but she could not have foreseen the expansive cords that the man bore on his chest. In a gruesome way, it reminded Sara of the arrow marks on her belly, like starbursts drawing to a point over the center of his chest. His, though, added an element with a long primary stroke cutting him bilaterally.  

 

Sara cut a glance to the side to see that Mick had been caught as unprepared as she had, staring with eyes too large to be counted a stoic, even if it was a near thing. Quickly, she laid the Y as Gideon’s projected diagram proposed - inverted, with the center fall at the bottom of his sternum and the ends curling to his sides or over his left shoulder to the back of his neck - and the AI initiated the new test as soon as the core lit up after alignment. 

 

The pair stepped back as the leads began to pulse with yellow light and slowly. . .  _ very  _ slowly, Sara noted as she watched minutes tick by, the Colonel’s breathing began to return to a human rate. She felt Mick’s should relax next to her when the oxygen levels began to rise as well and she forced the tension out of her own jaw and hands. 

 

“He’s younger.” The words were abrupt, drawing her from her own thoughts of leases on life, but Sara nodded.

 

“I’d thought so when I saw him this morning back I wasn’t sure . . .” She had never known him as anything but the silver-haired Crook (and briefly an infant with a tendency to clutch whoever’s fingers were closest) but the near-black didn’t throw his features into too different of a relief. 

 

“Didn’t really start losin' the dark ‘til around a few years ago. This guy looks about the same that Snart did at 36 an’ 37.” Mick shook his head a little. “‘S an impressive scar, ain’t it, Boss.”

 

Sara settled herself before she flinched this time, but only because the identifier seemed to catch for a moment in his throat. “Fresh, too. Maybe a year and change.”

 

“You are correct, Captain Lance. Both the surgery and the cardiac event that lead to its necessity appear to have taken place 14 months ago.”

 

“Your test done?”

 

“It is, Mr. Rory. You may remove the CS-3-” Mick was moving before Gideon even finished her sentence, pulling the leads off of the Colonel’s skin even more quickly than Sara had placed them.

 

“So, what’s the prognosis, Doctor?” Sara asked to cover Mick’s sharpness as he moved to pull the shirts back into place.

 

“The regulator is extensive; whatever happened to Mr. Snart delivered quite a debilitating blow to his primary function originally, but someone or - more likely  _ several  _ someones - took great care to bring him back to full capacity. Most of the involuntary actions of his left-hand lung along with the entirety of his heart is influenced by an advanced titanium-alloy threading and leads-” 

 

“-And? What does it mean for him, he’s still unconscious.”

 

“Yes, Mr. Rory, he is,” Gideon sounded more than a little put out, though Sara couldn't tell if it was because of Mick’s interruption or because of the truth in his observation. The Colonel was still prone in the med chair, unresponsive despite the charts expressing a lighter load of sedatives being administered. “But he should come around soon, since the CS-3 did its job.” 

 

Mick grunted his acknowledgment before asking after a suggested time window, but it seemed that the 45 to 70 minutes range was not near enough and Sara watched the arsonist stride out of the Med Bay. 

  
  
  


With Mick gone, there was little to do but wait. 

 

Sara settled back into the second chair and messaged Jax to ask if he could get a jump on the data from Earth 49 only to receive a three-second video response of the young crewmember looking dead-eyed into the camera before snorting and dropping his head back onto his pillow. 

So much for a head engineer. 

 

About half an hour into what Gideon had referred to as _ human recalibrating  _ \- Sara had assumed it was some form of AI humor - the Colonel’s body starting seizing again. Even despite Gideon’s calm assessment of the contractions as harmless and unavoidable, she had to pry her fingers from the chair’s arms and force herself to relax.

 

It was senseless, the way that Sara could feel a chill run through her body every time the vitals on the screen dipped below normal. But she was the captain, and everyone on the ship, crew or not, was her responsibility to make sure the made it back safe. To make sure that every reasonable avenue of assistance was explored. She had done it countless times with the strays that they always seemed to mang to pick up, but there was a pattern there: bring them onboard, heal the bumps and bruises and break, usually a little bonding depending on the visitors disposition, then after a memory wipe or a convoluted cover story, they were back on the ground where they belonged. 

 

But with The Colonel there was no putting him back, not after they had taken him away - it's not like they Waverider was supposed to make universe-hopping a casual event. And, with the Colonel, there was no easy observing. It seemed that every time Sara chanced a look at the face she’d known before or the scarred chest that was now once again covered in layers. She sucked in a deep breath when the shaking stopped, but it did little the lessen her nerves. 

 

Amaya stopped in as few minutes shy of the bottom threshold, asking after the Colonel’s health even in the same moment that her eyes swept the room. Sara gave her a short response,  _ he’s fine, nothing to do but wait _ , and spared the other woman from asking by telling her that Mick had run off under the guise of hunting out liquor. More or less a lie, but a useful one because soon Sara was alone again with the monitors and their incessant pulsing.

 

Thirty minutes turned to forty, then sixty before the Colonel expressed any indicator of consciousness. Just a hand clenching against his leg, nails probably digging in to give some form of sensory feedback after the deprivation of sedation. Sara had caught herself doing that before. Gideon would probably shame him like she had her.  Another five minutes and his eyes were squinting against the lights before opening. 

 

“Welcome back, Mr. Snart. I have recalibrated your internal rhythmic device-” 

 

“Thank you, Gideon, but I don’t suppose I could get some pain meds before you begin your spiel? My arm-” Sara could see it without him say so; his arm, the left, was pulled up to be cradled against his chest almost as soon as he regained motion and he actively kneaded the meat of his bicep with his free hand. The med cuff lit up as the medication was administered. 

 

“My apologies, my adjustment of the leads may have lead to discomfort and the strain-”

 

“-Of the seizures didn’t help, I know, thank you.”

 

He over and saw Sara now, though based off the stillness of his express, he had known she was there already. 

 

“Sorry for falling down on the job, Captain. I won’t make habit of it.”

 

“From what I can tell, you’re in no position to be able to make that promise.” It came out more than a little more harshly than she had intended for a conversation with a man of recently regain alertness, but Sara stood by it if only because of the truth it held. And the Colonel at least had the presence of mind to look properly set upon, brow furrowing in an annoyingly familiar way.

 

“I suppose you’re right, but I can try.” He met her eyes as he said it, forcing a promise into the words that spoke of none, but Sara didn’t want promises. 

 

“Spare us your attempts - how about the truth. Starting with: who are you?”

**Author's Note:**

> Sadly, this Snart has no fluffy hood.
> 
> I have a partial chapter written for this and I know some plots I'd like to explore and some headcanon fulfillments I want to put to digital paper, so share any thoughts you have about continuation. 
> 
> Much love,  
> Gin
> 
> (PS: For the love of God, someone please tell me when something doesn't make sense in a fic - I reread some older works and I cannot believe anyone understood a word of what was written. I may even go as far a rewriting them just to resolve my frustrations.)


End file.
